


Yep, it's another bloody lockdown fic

by Cheeseanonioncrisps



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aromantic Aziraphale, Aromantic Crowley, Asexual Aziraphale, Asexual Crowley, COVID-19, Could also be interpreted as romantic, Crowley knows Aziraphale, Gen, Good Omens Lockdown, Plaguefic, Quarantine, Queerplatonic Good Omens, Queerplatonic relationship, just don't expect them to kiss or anything, lockdown - Freeform, that phone call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeseanonioncrisps/pseuds/Cheeseanonioncrisps
Summary: Does what it says on the tin. Do we think Neil Gaiman knew what forces he was messing with when he unleashed that video on our poor fandom? 😂xxxCrowley hung up.He eyed the phone, imagining all the angelic dithering that must have been happening on the other side of it, and smirked to himself. The universe never allowed him to stay bored for too long— this was going to be a fascinating way to pass the time.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 86
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Yep, it's another bloody lockdown fic

"Right... I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, angel." and, without waiting for a response, Crowley hung up.

He eyed the phone, imagining all the angelic dithering that must have been happening on the other side of it, and smirked to himself. The universe never allowed him to stay bored for too long— this was going to be a _fascinating_ way to pass the time. He estimated an hour or two should do it, and put on a film[1].

Ten minutes after the credits rolled, the phone rang again. Crowley picked it up. "What now?"

"Oh, hello. It's just me again, Aziraphale," the voice on the end of the line said, like it hadn't been told approximately _10,000 times_ that Crowley _knew_ it was Aziraphale and that Crowley would _always_ know that it was Aziraphale, because _Aziraphale was_ _the only one who_ _had Crowley'snumber_[2].

"What is it angel?"

"I… er, well." There was a pause, during which time Crowley amused himself by doodling a duck on the back of one of his latest reports to Hell[4]. 

"You still there, Aziraphale?" he asked, just as he was putting the finishing touches to the fangs.   
  
"Yes, yes. Absolutely. Just… just thought I'd call in to check that you were alright."

"Ah. Very kind of you," said Crowley. "Angelic," he added, because, after all, he _was_ still a demon. 

"... So you are alright then?" Aziraphale said. "Sleeping well, er, and so forth? Phone still working alright, I see."

"Tickety boo," said Crowley, penciling in a halo, hovering just above his duck's horns. "Thank you for your concern." 

"Oh, good," Aziraphale said. Then, very quickly, "I mean, not _good_ , obviously, what with you being er… Though I suppose maybe that doesn't quite matter so much anymore, what with, er, recent events, but still… I am glad."

"Thanks." Crowley's duck now appeared to be saying something very rude about Hastur. He figured that that was probably enough demonic work for one day— wouldn't want to get a reputation for diligence, after all— and sent it Downstairs[5] with a wave of his hand. "Shame we can't see each other, really," he said. "What with all these rules and such."

"Yes." Going purely by his tone, Crowley reckoned that Aziraphale was most likely sitting in the front of the shop, forlornly sipping cocoa from his angel-wing mug— cocoa that he had probably allowed to go cold fifteen minutes ago, but wouldn't warm up because it fit too well with his general air of self-pity— and staring pathetically out of the nearest window. He might even be reflexively doing his puppydog eyes expression, even though he knew Crowley couldn't see[6] him. "But, you know, that would be breaking all the rules."

"Hmm. Like I said, shame." Crowley's tone could almost have passed as sympathetic. "See you in July, angel."

"Yes, er I suppose I'll see you–" Crowley hung up, just to see what would happen.

Approximately seven seconds later, the phone rang again. "Hmm?"

"Crowley! It's me, Aziraphale."

"Well who else is it bloody going to be?"

"Never mind that. You _hung up_ on me!" Aziraphale sounded like he might actually be on the verge of smiting somebody with his wroth this time. "How dare you?" 

"I didn't think you had anything more to say."

"I was literally mid-sentence you–"

"Anything important, I meant."

_"Crowley!"_

"Sorry." He meant it. "So, were you going to say you'll see me again when this is all over?" Well, he meant it _a bit._

"No! Well, yes, but–" 

"Nothing that we didn't cover in our last call, then?"

"No, but…" 

"Not much point continuing then, was there? Goodnight, angel. Call me back if you have something _different_ to say." And once again, Crowley put the phone down.

Then immediately started debating with himself whether to pick it up again.

He'd been obvious enough that time, hadn't he? The angel wasn't stupid, after all. And there was no point in dropping too many hints— Aziraphale _needed_ to figure this out for himself. But then, he didn't want him to not call back...

Crowley paced up and down the living room, scowling at the greenhouse, where all his plants had suddenly started growing so well that even _he_ couldn't find much reason to shout at them. Green, flowering, spotless bastards. Just when he needed the distraction[7]. Just as he was on the verge of going in there to yell at them anyway— if nothing else, then for their traitorous unwillingness to let themselves be used as a living stress-ball— the phone rang again.

"Crowley?"

"Yeah?"

"It's me, Aziraphale."

Crowley sighed. "Angel, I promise you, there is no scenario in which I will answer the phone and not immediately assume that–"

"Are you upset with me, at all?" _Fuck_. He'd gone too far.

"No," he said quickly, trying to sound reassuring. "Not upset with you in the slightest."

"I haven't done something to offend you lately, have I?"

"No more than I have you." A pause. A long one. "Angel?"

"Do you…" Aziraphale sounded like he was bracing himself for the worst. "Do you not want to come over?"

Crowley bit his lip. "I _did_ offer, Aziraphale. You refused, if you'll recall, said it'd be breaking all the rules."

"Yes, but-"

"S'not because of me we're not seeing each other."

"But- but…" _Come on angel,_ Crowley silently cheered him on. _Use your bloody words. Can't get to to shut up on any other topic._ He heard Aziraphale take a deep breath[8]. "But I _always_ refuse."

 _WAHOO! Well done angel! Ladies, Gentlemen and beings of alternate or indeterminate gender, we have self-awareness!_ But, "That you do," said Crowley, just about managing to keep his voice level.

"And you always get me to say yes."

"That is generally how we've done things, yeah." Crowley conceded. A treacherous voice in his head chose this point to speak up. _Now remind him that things are different._ _Rules don't apply now we're not at work, right? Could argue that we might be_ meant _to break them. Part of the great/ineffable/whichever plan, y'know? Come on, you know he's just waiting for an excuse…_

Crowley ignored it. For once, he was sick of tempting. And Aziraphale was _so close_. "I'm going to go to bed in a couple of days, angel," he said instead. "If you want to call me, best to do it before then. You know how hard it can be to wake me up once I'm down."

"Oh, right. Yes." A half hearted attempt at a chuckle. "Er... and if I don't? I mean, if I don't get around to…"

"Then I wake up in July when it's all over, and we go to the Ritz," Crowley said. "These things never last forever angel. _We_ know that, even if some of the humans seem to have forgotten."

"Oh, of course, yes, I suppose you're right."

"Well then. Goodnight." This time he waited for Aziraphale to be the one to put the phone down.

Crowley gave it at least a day, maybe two. In fact, it would probably be worth postponing his nap for another few days after that, just to give the angel a fighting chance.

For six thousand years, Aziraphale had striven to be a good person. Unfortunately, he had been working with two very different definitions of the word 'good'. One was derived from Heavenly doctrine, and seemed to be based mostly around the following of rules (Heavenly or human didn't seem to matter— Heaven just liked rules in general) regardless of whether they made sense or felt right at the time. The other came from the angel's own conscience, which he didn't tend to give enough credit to in Crowley's opinion. And, for six thousand years, Crowley had been Aziraphale's excuse— if Aziraphale did wrong (or 'wrong') because of Crowley then it was fine, wasn't it? Because it was Crowley's _job_ to tempt people. And temptation wouldn't be temptation if it were easy to resist.

But _wanting_ to break the rules? Without clear demonic influence? And openly admitting to it? Well, that was a different kettle of fish[9] entirely. Crowley couldn't blame the angel for needing some time to try and break free from that mind-set.

Which was why it was such a surprise when the phone rang once again, just a few hours later.

"Aziraphale?"

"Hello. It's me."

"Of course it's bloody you! Look, even if it wasn't _you_ specifically, whoever it was would still probably refer to themselves as-"

"And I was just wondering how you were getting on during lockdown." The angel spoke like he was reading from a script[10] . 

Crowley raised his eyebrows, but played along. "I'm bored," he said. "Transcendentally bored, as it happens. Got nothing to do."

"Oh. Well, I was just calling to ask… since neither of us are actually in danger of catching or spreading the virus, and since as you've just pointed out, staying in lockdown on one's own can be frightfully dull, I was wondering if perhaps… er, perhaps…" Crowley waited. _You can do it, angel. Just say it!_ There was the sound of Aziraphale taking another deep breath, then, in a rush: "perhapsyouwouldliketospendlockdownwithmeintheshop."

"Um, what?"

"Perhaps, perhaps you would like to spend lockdown with me," Aziraphale said, sheepishly but at a coherent speed, "er, in the shop."

"Oh, right." In the empty flat, Crowley punched the air and just about managed to restrain himself from yelling "wahoo!" down a telephone line. The poor angel had probably been through enough for one day. "Sure. Absolutely. Be there in… well, as soon as you want me, really. Mind if I miracle myself?"

"No, not at all, dear boy," Aziraphale said, sounding rather like he'd just run a race. "Er, only you'd better make sure you aim for the dead centre of the rug— the one that covers my old communication circle, I mean. There's a bit of… well, things are a bit untidy at the moment."

"Okay." Crowley decided not to think too much about what might qualify as 'untidy', considering the bookshop's usual atmosphere of what could politely be described as 'organised chaos[11] '. "I'll be there right away."

"Splendid. Oh, and Crowley?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, angel," Crowley said firmly. "Be there in a few."

"See you then."

Crowley waited until Aziraphale had hung up, grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen— something he'd been saving— and next thing he knew he was standing in the middle[12] of the bookshop rug, confronted with a rather nervous looking angel and— "Satan's _bollocks_ , Aziraphale! That's a hell of a lot of cake."

Aziraphale straightened up immediately. "Language, Crowley!" 

"Sorry— that's a _heaven_ of a lot of cake."

"You know what I meant. Come along." He came over, moving with practised ease (and, Crowley suspected, probably at least one miracle) through the maze of book towers and, as of the past few weeks apparently, small tables laden with cake that covered almost every inch of the bookshop floor. Taking the wine in one hand and miracling it to safety[13], he guided Crowley through and towards one of the sofas at the back— which wasn't actually clear, but did have few enough books and plates of cake piled on top of it that Aziraphale was able to move them aside with not too much trouble.

Crowley sat down and looked around in disbelief. "I leave you alone, for less than a month, and this is what happens."

"I told you," Aziraphale said, picking up an iced bun from a nearby table and nibbling on it absent-mindedly. "I got peckish."

"You're not making any more. Not till you've finished this lot."

"Well no, I don't suppose I shall."

"I might have to get back into the tempting business for a while after all. If you miss me at any point over the next few weeks, Aziraphale, you can assume I'll be out tempting reckless young people to steal your cash box."

"Oh hush." Aziraphale frowned. "If it bothers you that much, my dear, I can probably find some way to distribute it within the community. People do leave out food parcels you know. Assuming that that wouldn't upset your demonic sensibilities."

"I don't care what you do with it, so long as I don't end up tripping over it every day for the next however many months." The wine was miracled to the sofa, along with two glasses. "So, 'm I going to be sleeping on here then? Nights I mean?"

"Not necessarily. I do have a bed upstairs, you know. Although I'll admit that at the moment it is a bit covered in-"

"Books?" Crowley poured himself a glass, then handed the bottle to Aziraphale.

"Well yes. And-"

"Cake?"

"I can clear them away for you. Although," Aziraphale continued thoughtfully, "if you're going to be spending the whole time unconscious— and you can be quite a sound sleeper when you want to be— I don't see any reason why I can't just put them back on on top of you."

"Aziraphale, I am _not_ sleeping under a pile of books and cake every night."

Aziraphale wiggled happily. "Oh, you wouldn't _know_ , dear boy. No, no. I'd remove them every morning before you woke up. I promise, you wouldn't have the faintest idea about it."

Crowley snorted. "Great. Now I get to spend the next few months having to be paranoid about whether or not I'm being secretly used as a living cake rack." He raised his glass in Aziraphale's direction. "Bastard."

"Fiend."

They sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for inviting me over."

"Oh." Aziraphale beamed. "You're quite welcome, dear boy."

xxxxx

1Something evil and devilish that he could never watch while the angel was around. Definitely _not_ 'Toy Story 4', a film that Crowley didn't even own, and most certainly hadn't watched about ten times already. [return to text]

2Well, okay, Aziraphale and several surprisingly persistent telemarketing companies (another one of Crowley's ideas that had come back around to bite him in the arse) but they didn't tend to start all their conversations with a slightly nervous "oh, hello", like they still weren't 100% sold on the idea of sound travelling through mysterious wires[3], and usually got his name wrong, so there wasn't much danger of a mixup. [return to text]

3Actually, in Aziraphale's case the sound wasn't travelling through wires at all. Crowley had secretly unplugged his phone back in 1976 after a very heated argument about whether whales counted as fish (Aziraphale insisted that they did, but was obviously wrong because Crowley _knew_ that they were really just an especially fat species of seal) and the angel still hadn't noticed. [return to text]

4He had to keep up with reports, didn't he? As Aziraphale had so kindly pointed out in their last phone call, having the boss try to dissolve you horribly into goo was no excuse to slack off on the job. And if those reports had lately started to involve fewer descriptions of Crowley's Evil Deeds of the Day, and significantly more obscene suggestions as to what Beelzebub might want to do with a pitchfork— well, it wasn't as if he'd received any complaints about it. [return to text]

5Now, more than ever, he could be reasonably sure that nobody would be coming up to talk to him about it. Pestilence was reportedly very pissed off at both sides for not telling her that the apocalypse was happening, and was making her displeasure known. Her mood had not been improved by the fact that the humans seemed to have got much better at dealing with her in the past hundred years, and all angels and demons who weren't locked down in Soho Bookshops or flats in Mayfair were sticking to their respective home bases so as to stay out of her way. Even if she couldn't make you ill like she could a human, didn't mean she couldn't do quite a bit of damage clonking you over the head with that staff of hers. [return to text]

6He'd actually taken a bit of persuading on this point. When phones had first come out, Aziraphale, used to Heaven's communication circles, had been convinced that if you were hearing somebody's voice that clearly, then it must mean that they could somehow see you as well. Crowley had spent a lot of time convincing him that that wasn't the case, and even longer trying to keep him from finding out about the existence of video calling, because that was not a conversation he was looking forward to having. [return to text]

7Over the generations, and under some pretty extreme selective pressure, Crowley's plants had evolved a heightened sensitivity towards anything that might make their master more stressed out than usual. Rates of photosynthesis in the flat had doubled the day the lockdown was announced on the news. [return to text]

8Technically it was unnecessary for him to breathe at all— the corporation would keep working perfectly well without oxygen. But Crowley knew better than anyone that sometimes you just needed to take a breath, biology be damned (or blessed, as the case may be). [return to text]

9Crowley's always unsteady train of thought derailed briefly at this point, in order to wonder why the hell anybody would want to keep fish in a kettle. He supposed you could boil them, but couldn't think of many fish big enough to be worth eating yet small enough to fit inside your average kettle. And what if they tried to escape by swimming up the spout? [return to text]

10He wasn't, of course. The idea was utterly _preposterous_. And anyway, all evidence of any such script would be thoroughly miracled away by the time Crowley got there, so there was no way he or anybody else could possibly prove it. [return to text]

11And was less politely but more frequently described, by Crowley, as a "total and utter bloody mess". [return to text]

12Well, a couple of centimetres to the left, actually, but then he _was_ still a demon. [return to text]

13Safety here being a relative word that means 'balanced precariously atop yet another towering pile of books'. But then, it wasn't in any real danger of falling. Nothing in Aziraphale's bookshop would want to disappoint him by doing a silly thing like that. [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you guys like this, because it took me all weekend and thoroughly distracted me from any number of deadlines I've got coming up in the next month.
> 
> It feels like everybody in the fandom is doing a lockdown fic at the moment though, and most of them seem to be interpreting the phone call as either Aziraphale genuinely wanting to discourage Crowley from coming over, because That Would Be Breaking The Rules, and/or Crowley being genuinely discouraged from coming over because he thinks that Aziraphale doesn't want him.
> 
> And that's totally valid, to be clear, but I felt like my interpretation was different, so I decided to write it. 
> 
> Kudos and comments would be adored! ❤️


End file.
